


MMOM 2013 - 31 in 31 (May1-May31)

by Turtlebaby



Category: White Collar
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Blindfolds, Eavesdropping, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Shower Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlebaby/pseuds/Turtlebaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm posting all 31 days of the Merry Month of Masturbation here as one big entry.  The only places these have been published thus far are on my fic journal and to the MMOM comm on lj, so some of you may have seen these, others not.  They range from NC-17 to PG-13.  There is slash (a LOT of slash), there is het.  There is boy play and girl play and eavesdropping and dirty showers.  It was a long month of wank inspired fics.</p><p>After posting all these I have to ask myself, what's with all the feels when you're writing about masturbation? Apparently May was a very angsty month for my muse. lol</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Question

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of these need to be edited very very badly, so I am apologizing for that. But the speed in which they needed to go up left little to no time for beta-ing and I haven't gotten a chance to go back and fix them. Don't let it drive you crazy! ;)
> 
> Also, formatting is NOT my friend tonight.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?" He didn't even lift his eyes off the file in front of him.

"Peter."

He rolled his eyes before glancing up, giving his partner a second of attention before he went back to the folder. "What, Neal?"

"Do you ever think about me when you masturbate?"

That got his attention and he lifted his head sharply, eyes sliding to the open door. "Excuse me?"

"Masturbate. You know, play a little five-on-one? Choke the chicken? Prime your pump? Rub one out?" Neal had a wicked grin inching its way across his face. "Do you think of me when you take matters into your own hands?"

All Peter could do was blink. And swallow. And hey, blinking again. "Um. This is not the place." He was far to aware of Diana standing less than three feet from his door.

"Elizabeth does. When she does. And of you too, of course. Probably, you know, together." He bit at his bottom lip and his gaze was incredibly intense. "Our girl is far more upfront about self pleasuring than you are."

Peter coughed. "Why are we having this discussion?"

"Curiosity, mostly." Neal grinned and settled back in his chair. "I think about you."

"Oh." That was all he could get out over the wave of pleasure that washed over him and settled in his cock. "I..."

Neal looked over to the door and dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "It's always better when it's your hand I imagine stroking me."

"I... yeah. Yeah it is. I do. Jesus." He shifted in his seat.

Neal stood and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I'm going to the 3rd floor men's room." He tone was still teasing but his eyes were dark with arousal.

Peter was on his feet before he realized he was moving. "Yeah?" Before his mind could remind him that office sex was a bad idea.

Neal turned to walk away but stopped at the door to look over his shoulder. "Wanna come... cuff a con?"

"Euphemisms should not be that hot." Peter hastily gathered his coat, draping it over his arm, and holding it protectively over his groin. He shut the office door behind him harder than he meant to and dismissed the odd look Diana shot him with a wave of his hand. "Dull day. Early lunch." He took the steps as quick as he could and followed Neal's laughter all the way to the waiting elevator.


	2. Watcher

Elizabeth chewed at her lip as she tried not to writhe under Peter's scrutiny. He was settled into an armchair that he had dragged to the foot of the bed. The only light on in the room was the lamp washing over her and he was no more than a shadow, if it weren't for the soft sounds of fabric against fabric, she might have forgotten he was there. Except that she could feel his eyes on her. She squirmed. "Tell me again?" Her voice was surprisingly breathless.

"I want to watch." Peter didn't hesitate, confident in his request. "I want to see how you treat yourself when I'm not here. I want to know what I'm missing."

She flushed with embarrassment, even as arousal flooded her belly. "You want a show?"

"No." His voice was low. "You wouldn't put on a show for yourself. I want to see what I don't get to see. The down and dirty just for you."

"Oh." She understood. "There's not much to see with that."

"Elizabeth." His voice was somewhere between a whine and a beg and so she obliged, sliding her fingers past the elastic of her pajamas instead of tugging them down. She wouldn’t, probably, if he wasn’t there.

She heard the shift of the chair as she arched her shoulder off the bed when her fingertips found her center and started the circular stroke that she favored.

Between the feeling of his gaze and the sound of his breath growing ragged, it didn’t take long and she was right there; body tense, lips caught between her teeth, air trapped in her lungs. The movement of her hand in her pants growing frantic and erratic.

And then Peter was there, capturing the cry from her lips as her orgasm washed over her. "That was beautiful, El." He nuzzled against her neck and slipped his hand down; first covering, then replacing her own as she arched into his touch. "My turn."


	3. Because I said So

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm forcing my voyeurism kink onto poor Peter. Not that I think he minds.

"Peter." Neal's voice was a strained whine. "Peter, please."

Peter's low chuckle came from his left and Neal turned his head toward it, hoping Peter would see the need on his face even if he couldn't see his eyes. "Not yet, buddy. Not when you're so beautiful with your cock in your hand."

Neal grit his teeth and dropped his chin to his chest, the movement of his hand slowing in time to his breath, trying to control his body's need for release. "I can't..." He panted and squeezed the base hard to control the wave of pleasure as Peter's lips found the spot behind his ear that drives him crazy. "Fuck."

"Yes, you can, baby. Because I want you to." Neal felt Peter step a little closer, his cock pressed against his arm, his fist bumping against Neal's arm at the top of every stroke.

Neal tried to suppress the groan that escaped at the image he couldn't see but knew. Peter standing beside him, cock in hand, matching him stroke for stroke. He sucked in a breath and worked his fist a little faster, both amused and aroused when the bump against his arm was off for one, two, three strokes before Peter's breath hitched and he caught the new rhythm.

"Jesus, Neal. The things you do to me." Peter's tone was less controlled than before, his words punctuated with gasps.

This time when Neal slowed his fist the man at his side didn't match him. "Come, Peter. Please."

He gasped as Peter's other hand grasped at his shoulder and he came with a clench of his fingers, hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, Neal."

The feeling of Peter's cum, laying in hot ribbons across his torso was enough to unhinge him, but he didn't. He held his hand tight around his cock and panted. "Now, Peter? Please. I need... I need..." He thrust his hips against his hand, against his own will and knew he was fighting a losing battle. "I'm going to... please."

Then Peter was behind him, slipping the blindfold off and placing kisses along his neck and jaw, his hands slipping over his shoulders to palm his nipples. And then finally, his voice, hot against his ear. "Do it."

He tilted his head back where it rested against Peter's shoulder. He loosened the hold on the base of his cock and two strokes was all it took before he came with a shudder and a cry, his lover's name tumbling off his lips like a prayer.


	4. Two Beds and a Coffee Machine

Oh, isn't this cliché. Peter eyed the hotel room wearily. Of course, they'd been warned before they finished checking in, but he'd really hoped the girl at the front desk had been mistaken somehow. That his flashy badge and whiny voice would be magic enough to conjure up another room. But no, one bed, a double.

"You know, Peter. This feels like the setup to a bad porno." Neal came in behind him and forced him further into the room.

Peter groaned inwardly. He had been trying so hard, for most of the damn drive, to keep images like that out of his head. Neal was two months post-anklet and had shifted comfortably into the role of consultant. Something else had shifted too and Peter couldn't, or more likely wouldn’t, put his finger on it. But lately? Lately when he got himself off, it was Neal's hand; not El's, that fueled his fantasy. It was the idea of Neal, naked except that hat, that had him groaning into his arm against the shower wall.

And now, now it was those damn mischievous baby blues; wide, innocent, and pleased looking that had his cock twitching. Neal had settled into the only chair in the room. "So." His gaze flicked once over Peter, making his ears burn. "What do you want to do?"

They had arrived extremely late, due to heavy traffic, and the clock on the bedside stand was showing 1am. He was exhausted and road weary and the dirty hotel comforter was looking a little too appealing for him to be in his right mind. "Sleep." He sighed a little too hard as the image of Neal in pajama bottoms, curled against him, rose unbidden in his mind. "But I'm going to shower first." Maybe rub one off, followed by a shot of ice cold water against his overheated skin. That might shut down his raging libido for the night.

Neal yawned and stretched his arms over his head, even his fingers getting in on the plot to destroy Peter's control as they unfurled from a clenched fist, promoting themselves as delicate. But Peter knew the strength behind them. He had felt it in handshakes and seen it in art. And imagined it, a lot lately, the strong beauty of them wrapped around his cock. Who knew a tired old man could be so horny?

His thoughts were interrupted then by the shrill ringing of the phone on the desk beside Neal and he jumped, even as the other man snatched up the receiver. "Hello?" Neal paused and cast a look in Peter's direction. "Yeah? Ok sure. That would work out perfectly. Thank you, Katie." He hung up the phone and stood.

"And that was?"

"Katie. From the desk? You know, the poor girl you all but flashed your gun at?" Neal grinned. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Peter, but she found us a different room. Two beds. No cuddles for you tonight." Peter choked on the air in his lungs which just caused Neal to laugh. "But don't worry, she says this one has its own coffee pot and everything."

Peter grabbed the handle of his suitcase and took a step back as Neal brushed past him toward the door. "Good. Good. You know how I feel about... coffee."

Neal pulled open the door and stopped. He turned his head just enough to show off the almost wistful quirk of his lips. "Yeah, Peter, I know how you feel."


	5. Mumbles in the Dark

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, he really hadn't. But when he woke up from a dead sleep to the sound of whispers in his usually quiet apartment, curiosity got the better of him. By the time he remembered that Peter was sleeping on his couch because El was away and he'd had a few too many beers with supper, it was too late to just stop listening.

And when Peter's night time whispers turned into sleepy mumbles, it was actually harder not to listen. And if some of those mumbles sounded distinctly like Neal, well, didn't he sort of have the right to listen?

He lay in the dark, ears trained toward the couch, amused when Peter seemed to be having a conversation with his dream counterpart. Then Peter chuckled, that low vibrating sound that always sent shivers up Neal's spine. The laugh melted away into a soft groan and Neal's eyes shot open. That did not sound - unpleasant. A soft whimper followed and he was pretty sure it ended in his name. His cock twitched at the idea and he ran his hand over his length, shuddering softly as Peter cried out again, clearer this time. And definitely his name.

He tugged the front of his pants down and fisted his cock, which was growing harder with every soft gasp from the couch. He blushed furiously at the idea of getting caught stroking himself to the sounds of his friend's wet dream, but couldn't stop his frantic movements. Not with Peter's harsh breathing and rumbling moans filling the air.

And when Peter's voice rang out in a string of explicatives, decorated with a sprinkle of his name, Neal squeezed his eyes shut and bit at his lip to keep from echoing Peter's cries as he came hot against his stomach.

He used the corner of the sheet to wipe away the evidence and tucked himself back into his pants. Turning onto his side, he let his body; spent, sated, and limp, relax into the mattress. He smiled to himself as Peter's mumbles turned back into soft whispers that faded into a steady breathing that lulled him to sleep.


	6. Together, Apart

Peter hoisted his suitcase onto the luggage rack with a grunt and eyed his hotel room wearily. Ever since Neal's off anklet release, he'd found himself too often away from home. Apparently rehabilitating a con man with Neal's flair made him some sort of hot ticket item. He liked to think it was also, at least in part, due to the fact that he was good at his job. After all, he didn't see Neal sleeping on lumpy mattresses and eating cold pastries for breakfast. Unfortunately.

He unzipped the suitcase in search of a tshirt to wear to bed and smiled at the old favorite El had folded on top his other clothes. He picked it up and frowned at the small device tucked beneath it. Barely half the size of his palm, silver, an wrapped in headphones. Under that was a piece of cardstock with the words Listen To Me scrawled out in Neal's careful hand.

He turned the thing over in his hand as he shrugged out of his shirt. Moving to the bed, he set it down on the nightstand and toed off his shoes and undid his belt. Once he was down to his boxers he slipped his old tshirt over his head and slid between the scratchy hotel sheets before settling the earbuds in place. Knowing Neal, it was some sort of mixed tape, full of smooth jazz or Sinatra. So when it was Neal's voice that filled his ears he was slightly taken aback.

"Hey Peter. If you're listening to this then the endless parade of The Amazing Burke has not yet come to an end..." He heard his wife's giggle in the background. "And we," he stopped as El interrupted.

"Hi, hon. " She paused and obviously turned her head away from the mic. "I hope this isn't a bad idea, Neal." There was hesitation in her voice before Neal laughed.

"Elizabeth. There is only 1 in a million chance that your husband is not going to like this. Trust me, I've been watching him watch us long enough to know that he's going to love this. And if he doesn't, he can throw it out the window on the drive home." Neal turned back, his voice grew louder in his ears. "Ok, Peter?"

Peter felt himself nod and smiled at his own foolishness. A recording certainly wasn't going to care if he agreed. But the warm pool of anticipation that washed over him left no doubt that whatever they were about to get into, he wasn't going to hate it.

"Anyway." Neal's voice continued. "We thought maybe you missed us." His voice dropped and Peter shivered a little with longing, he wanted to be with them. "Because we miss you."

El hummed her assent which turned into a gasp and Peter's cock stirred with interest. Neal's laugh rang out again. "Hey Peter? Have I ever said thank you for showing me how to make her make that sound?"

Peter closed his eyes and imagined it, Neal's tongue along the shell of her ear, a gentle nip at her lobe - El's gasp came again as if on cue. "Because damn, Peter. I love that sound."

He found himself nodding again, mindlessly palming himself over his boxers. The soft sounds of his wife and their partner just breathing together, just the sounds of low murmurs and the rustle of clothing had him literally aching with desire.

The sounds of being moved and Neal's voice again, barely a whisper. "Let's get you a little closer to the action, Peter. We wouldn't want you to miss anything." The familiar sound of their bed dipping and El's laughter.

He listened as her laughter turned to giggles, turned to those soft mewling noises that let Peter know exactly what Neal was doing with his mouth. He imagined her, one hand fisted in Neal's hair, the other grasping at the bed beside her. As her cries grew more frantic, he tugged his boxers down around his thighs and let his cock lay against his belly. He smoothed his palm over his slit and used the precum he found there as lubrication as he stroked his hand firmly down his length.

When her voice faded away to soft sighs, Peter knew Neal was there, planting kisses from her hips, up her belly, and across her breasts; and he also knew the moment that Neal gave up on his gentle explorations of her skin and had slipped inside her. "Oh, oh fuck, Neal." Her voice was strained and breathy and Peter's balls tightened in response.

He quickened the pace of his fist, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to, as Neal's ragged breathing and El's gasping moans filled his ears. He listened and he stroked and he tried to quiet the groans that were escaping his own chest as they picked up the pace as all three, separately together, raced for that finish line.

El came first, her orgasm almost silent, except for a sharp intake of breath and Peter pictured her, body tense against Neal, shuddering slightly as she held him still while she climaxed around him.

Neal came with Peter's name tumbling off his lips, followed by El's, muffled, probably by his face pressed against her shoulder.

And then Peter allowed his own release as the image of his two lovers tangled together and sweaty filled his mind. Their names fell from his lips, sounding like a whimper; of need and of love.

He fumbled for the MP3 player where it had slid off his chest and wound up somewhere by his head. Neal's voice was back again, this time sleepy and slow. "G'night Peter. Love you."

And then El. "Love you, Peter."

And then in the moment before the static, when all all he could hear was Neal fumbling sleepily for the power button on the recording device. "Next time, we should capture all three of us. I bet he'd like that..." The recording clicked off and Peter sighed in the dark. He couldn't agree more. He couldn't wait to get home.


	7. A Spooky Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame my sister and her random internet findings for this one. I don't even know where this came from. I had 2 hours of sleep in two days and I found this entire thing far too amusing. So, crack? lol

Peter put the car in park and sighed. An accident on the bridge meant they were going to be sitting here awhile, the final stretch before home. They'd finally caught up with their crook after a 36 hour chase and neither he nor Neal had gotten any sleep in almost two days. He brought a hand up to cover a yawn.

"What if every time you yawned a ghost stuck his dick in your mouth?" Neal asked in a serious voice, completely out of the blue.

Peter tried to laugh mid yawn and it came out more as a snort. He looked over at his partner and laughed again at Neal's expression, his features serious, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What?" He looked away again in an attempt to stop the bubble of giggles he could feel forming.

"You would never even know." Was that wonder he was hearing? Clearly he wasn't the only one feeling the effects of the long days they'd just put in.

Peter couldn't control his laughter at that point and leaned his head back, resting it against the seat. "Buddy, I think these exhaust fumes are getting to you." He gasped out between girlish giggles.

Neal looked over with a pouty expression on his face. "Seriously, Peter. I may never yawn again." Even as he said it, one grew across his face and he brought his hand up to cover his mouth protectively.

By that time Peter was all but gasping for air, his face red and his arm draped over his ribs. He needed to stop and just breathe for a minute, but everytime he looked over at Neal he laughed a little harder. "So, you're telling me..." He sucked in a deep lungful of air. "You're telling me that not only do you believe in ghosts,"

Neal nodded. "I do. I've been through some of the most haunted areas in Europe. I can't deny some of the things I’ve seen."

"Ok. Ok. Lets say you're right. Ghosts." He fought back another peal of laughter against his hand. "And these ghosts are what? Just walking around perpetually masturbating?"

"Well, no." Neal cocked his head and seemed to ponder the idea.

"They almost have to be, wouldn't they? I mean, it's one thing to haunt me all day. But the idea that he's hovering around my face with his dick in his hand, hoping I'll yawn is just... Neal. Are you high right now?"

"No." He blinked. "But I think it's possible that I'm suffering from sleep deprivation."

Peter reached out and put a hand on his friends shoulder, pulling together the most serious expression he could muster. "Oh my god, Neal. If they are so hard up all day that they'll shove it in your mouth at a moments notice... what the hell are they doing to you while you sleep?"

Silence filled the car as Neal's face screwed into a look of horror and when Peter's laughter erupted again it was loud, uncontrollable and his ribs ached with effort.


	8. Growing Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future!fic 10+ years. I still haven't gotten enough sleep. Yeah.

"Guys? I think it's time." El walked up and stood in front of the kitchen table where Peter and Neal were sitting with their heads together, discussing something about the file spread out across the surface.

"Hmm?" Peter flicked his eyes up and smiled at her. "Time for what?"

El sighed and dropped a magazine down atop their mess. "Your son has discovered pornography."

Neal snorted before he reached out for the magazine, flipping through it. "He's got good taste." He turned the magazine towards Peter. "Dog-eared his favorites. That's our boy."

"Hey! That's mine!" Peter snatched it away and rolled it nervously in his hands. "And he's only 11! Isn't that a little young to be..." He raised his eyes back to El. "Why is he our son when he's masturbating and your son when he's winning spelling bees?"

Neal snorted again and Peter whacked the magazine lightly against his arm. "Shut up, you."

Neal held up his hands in mock apology. "Maybe he's not squirreled away in his room touching himself. Maybe there's an innocent explanation."

"Yeah." Peter sighed. " Because there are so many other reasons for keeping porn under your mattress."

"The human body is captivating. I used mine for nude models until I was old enough to get, you know, nude models." Neal shrugged and Peter looked hopeful. "After I was done getting off, that is." He laughed again as Peter frowned.

"Maybe we can just not put it back?" El pulled out a chair and sat.

"Well, that's a bad idea." Neal rolled his eyes. "Then he's going to know we found it. And that we took it. And that we don't think he should have it." He frowned a little and his eyes slid to the side. "We certainly don't want him to be ashamed."

"He's e-lev-en." Peter drew out the word.

"Maybe he's just looking." El spoke up. "I looked at porn when I was a preteen. My friends and I, we'd steal a magazine from one of our parents and flip through it together. I didn't actually use it for a few years."

Both sets of eyes were staring at her. "You're a girl." Peter said.

"Yeah. No offense, El. But if he's looking, he's touching." Neal was shaking his head.

"Boys." She stood and put her palms on the table. "So, you'll talk to him then?"

"Of course we will, El." Neal reached out and patted her hand with a bat of his eyelashes and a toothy smile. "Don't worry."

Peter shot him a glare before plastering on a grin of his own and, mimicking Neal, covered her other hand with his. "We'll try not to traumatize him."

It was El's turn to laugh as she turned to walk away. "Oh. Our poor child. He's doomed."


	9. A shameful Thing

Peter shifted and sighed and stared and then shifted again as Neal absentmindedly rolled his pen through his fingers. He ran them up and down the length of it, completely oblivious to the fact that fifteen feet away Peter was harboring dark fantasies of becoming a pen, of letting Neal's fingers slide effortlessly over him, back and forth in that languid stroke.

Then Neal leaned forward in his chair to study the file in front of him and Peter barely suppressed a groan as a slip of pink darted out between his lips to wet his finger as he started flipping through pages. His brow furrowed in concentration, working hard like the good little CI he was, and arousal pulsed through Peter a little stronger. There was something so damned alluring about him when he zoned out; his mind working. Peter loved watching his face as pieces started falling together, as his beautiful mind made the implausible possible.

When he leaned on one elbow and slid the pen between his lips, Peter's breath got loud in his own ears and he got to his feet. Between the thoughts of Neal's fingers stroking him like silk and the new thought of how damned lucky that pen had it; all tucked between his lips, Peter had developed a rather uncomfortable symptom of his Neal Caffrey addiction and adjusted his pants accordingly, attempting to hide the evidence that his cock was aching against his thigh.

And if Peter knew himself, and he did, and If he knew Neal, and he did, this situation wasn't going to relieve itself on its own. He'd tried that approach the first time he'd found himself here. He'd spent the entire afternoon half hard and on the edge of pinning the other man roughly against the wall.

So, for not the first time, Peter headed almost shamefully for the office bathroom. It wasn't ideal and there was no guarantee of privacy, but it was better than almost forcing himself on Neal every time they crossed paths.

He had hoped to get past Neal's desk without him noticing he was there but, as usual, Neal seemed to have a special radar set to Peter, and as he looked up, Peter's cock pulsed as he became the object of observation under the gaze those baby blues.

"Are we going out? Peter, please. Tell me we have a case."

He had to physically restrain himself to keep from sliding his hand against his growing erection as Neal's voice tilted up in a beg. "Sorry, buddy. Bathroom break." He waved his hand in the general direction. His face felt flushed and he knew his smile was too tight.

Neal frowned and let his gaze flick over him. "Are you alright, Peter? You don't look so good."

Oh, is that right, Neal? You want to come take my temperature? See how hot I am for you? Peter coughed against the images in his head. "I'm fine. I'll be right back." Yeah, because this wasn't going to take long at all. He hadn't even touched himself yet and he felt halfway there.

"Ok." Neal didn't look like he believed him but shook his head and turned back to the work before him.

Peter let his eyes linger over Neal for a second longer before pulling himself away and ducking into the bathroom. Once inside he locked himself into the farthest stall, dropped his pants to his thighs, and sat. Even the cold plastic against his ass did nothing to quell the fire inside of him and he spit into his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock. He shuddered in both relief and arousal as he pulled roughly at himself before teasing a thumb over his leaking slit, imagining Neal doing the same with that wet pink tongue of his, teasing him, tasting him.

He brought his other hand up to brace himself against the stall wall and his fingers grasped for purchase against the smooth surface as his fist moved with faster, firmer strokes.

His thoughts, his actions, and his breathing all stopped as one as he heard the door squeak open and footsteps come inside. He bit his lip to stifle his frustrations as someone came in, unzipped, and used the urinal. He was moving again, slowly, before the water started in the sink and he used the roar of the hand dryer to cover the sound as pumped himself furiously for those 15 seconds.

Then he was still as the footfalls receded toward the door. He heard it creak open and pulled his hand back on himself. But it didn't slam closed again and he waited there, his cock throbbing, in the men's bathroom at the FBI. This has got to stop.

It was quiet, and if he hadn't of heard the door open, he might believe he was alone now. "Peter?" The door shut and footsteps made their way toward his door.

He, honestly, could not have been more surprised if his stall had slammed open. "Neal?" Well, this is awkward.

"You sure you're alright?" He sounded hesitant, clearly bathroom chats were weird for him too.

"I said I'm fine, Neal." Just fine indeed, cock in my hand, teetering on the edge of release, getting prodded toward that edge with every word you say. Yes, Neal. Keep talking.

"I know, Peter. But you've uh, been in here for awhile."

"Probably something I ate." His voice sounded strange, vibrating back at him from the stall door. "You going to stop eavesdropping soon?"

"Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry." The footsteps walked way and the door pulled open and slammed shut heavily.

Peter groaned and increased the speed of his stroke as he fumbled for toilet paper with the other hand. He barely caught it as he came sudden and hard, crying out before he could remember to quiet himself.

He stood on shaky legs and dropped the evidence into the toilet as he pulled up his pants and tucked himself away. Over the roar of the toilet flushing he heard the door slam shut again and he felt a residue of embarrassment as he straightened his tie and forced his face to neutral as he opened the stall door to face whoever was out there.

But when he stepped out, the bathroom was empty. He froze as his heart kicked up at the implications. He was a damn good detective and it didn't take any other evidence to know he'd been tricked. And busted. Oh, shit.


	10. Or Maybe,  Not So Shameful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of sorts from yesterdays MMOM fic, A Shameful Thing. It's not necessary to read it first, but maybe you want to. lol More like Round 2, Neal's POV.

Neal fiddled with his pen, his mind wandering outside the bullpen and directly up to Peter's office. He could feel his scrutiny and was trying his best not to look up. He was skimming the file in front of him, not really reading, just attempting to look busy so maybe Peter wouldn't notice that he noticed being noticed. He sighed and shook his head lightly to expel those unwanted thoughts, something was burning just below the surface of the other man lately, and Neal wished he would just do something about it already, before they both spontaneously combusted.

He would, he was more than tempted, but Peter was the one with something to lose. His job. His wife. But not, though. Not if he talked to El. She'd been the giver of soft smiles and gentle prodding and subtle hints for a couple of months now. But still, he wasn't about to make the first move. Not if it was the wrong one.

Something in the folder caught his eye and he leaned forward, flipping back and forth between a couple pages, an idea finally forming in his mind. It was so simple he almost laughed. Tucking his pen between his lips, he reached for a highlighter and ran bright orange over the information he was going to need for a summary.

The wash of heat over him always surprised him when Peter tried sneaking up on him. It was like his nerve endings just knew when he was approaching. He looked up and slid the pen out of his mouth. "Are we going out? Peter, please. Tell me we have a case."

"Sorry, buddy. Bathroom break." His voice sounded rough and his face was flushed.

Neal frowned with concern. "Are you alright, Peter? You don't look so good."

Peter let out a small cough and took a half step back. "I'm fine. I'll be right back."

Neal let his gaze linger on his partner for a moment longer and then shook his head lightly "Ok." Liar. He ducked his head back to the case before him. He felt Peter study him for another moment before turning and walking away. He lifted his head just in time to see him disappear into the bathroom.

He capped the marker and flicked it down onto the desk with a sigh. Maybe he should call El and see if Peter had been feeling ok that morning. No, don't be silly. You'll just worry her.

He stood and made his way over to the coffee, trying to not count the minutes since Peter had disappeared behind the door. He poured himself a cup and made his way back to his desk. Setting down the mughe shrugged to himself. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so hovery today but, screw it, he turned and headed for the bathroom.

He let the door fall behind him with a clunk and made his way to the urinal, ears trained towards the stalls as he did his business and washed his hands. It was a strange feeling, listening for sounds of sick coming from a public bathroom. He slid his hands under the dryer before turning back to the door. He pulled it open and stopped as a small sound found his ears. "Peter?" He let the door fall closed again and walked toward the stalls.

"Neal?" His voice was definitely strained now and Neal felt a little bad for interrupting him.

"You sure you're alright?" He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and wished fervently that he was anywhere but here, but he'd already opened the can of worms, might as well follow through now.

"I said I'm fine, Neal." Great, now he was frustrating him.

"I know, Peter. But you've uh, been in here for awhile." Just shut up and walk away, Caffrey.

"Probably something I ate." There was a pause and Neal suddenly realized how fucking weird this was. "Are you going to stop eavesdropping soon?"

"Oh." He felt a blush warm his face. "Oh yeah. Sorry." He walked to the door and pulled it open. At the last second he changed his mind and stepped back, letting it fall closed in front of him. Eavesdropping might not be a bad idea.

He held his breath and waited for his silence to betray Peter's body into confessing its illness. So when the sound of flesh against flesh met his ears, his eyes widened in shock. That was a sound he recognized. And that was certainly not the sound of a sick man.

His cock stirred at the sound of Peter's breathing, ragged an quick; at the soft grunts that weren't even loud enough to echo; and when he came with a cry, Neal's cock pulsed with arousal.

He stood stock still with one hand on the handle of the door, not sure if he should run like a coward or stay and pounce like a cat in heat. He listened to the jangle of Peter's belt and when the toilet flushed he used the sound as cover and yanked the door open, escaping into the low hum of the office. He winced when the door banged shut behind him.

He walked quickly back to his desk and slid into his chair just as the bathroom door pulled open again and Peter stepped out. He kept his eyes forward and walked right by without making eye contact. He made his way to his office and sat behind the desk, eyes down, fingers fidgeting.

Neal sighed. His cock ached and he was having a damn difficult time stopping images of Peter, stroking his own cock, from flooding his mind. Maybe it was time to do something after all.

He pulled put his phone and composed a short text. Hypothetically speaking, if someone had developed inappropriate feelings for someone else's husband, how would someone feel about that?

God. That was no good. His fingers danced over the send key for a long moment. There was no going back after this. No take backs once she knew. He hit the key and tucked his phone in his pocket. He opened the file before him and tried to concentrate on the case that had been falling together before his curiosity had him falling apart.

When his phone vibrated against his chest a few minutes later he grabbed at it without thinking and was alarmed to find that she was calling. He was tempted to send her to voicemail but thumbed the answer key at the last moment.

"Hi." He knew he sounded timid and breathless. His heart felt like he'd just run a marathon.

"Neal." He couldn't read her tone and he swallowed hard. Maybe he had been reading her wrong.

"Elizabeth." He fought the urge to get to his feet and pace.

She sighed heavily in his ear. "It's about damned time." And then she actually giggled.

"What?" Disbelief, even if this is kind of what he'd been expecting.

"You two are so incredibly frustrating. You have my blessing, my permission; 100% of it." She sounded sure and open and Neal's heart raced with gratitude.

"Ok." He was at a loss for words. This woman, this amazing woman.

"I won't call to ruin the... surprise. But tell him I said 'fuchsia'.

He frowned. "Huh?"

"Then he'll know that you talked to me. He'll know it's ok. And Neal? He's going to need to know its ok."

"Fuchsia. Ok." Words were hard.

"Have fun." She laughed again. "Bye."

"El?" The nickname felt weird off his tongue.

"Yeah, baby?" He blushed at the intimacy of one word.

"Thank you."

"No, Neal. Thank You." She disconnected the call and he got to his feet. His feet felt like lead as his eyes zeroed in on Peter and he made his way toward him.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside without knocking and shut the door behind him. Peter's eyes followed him as he made his way to the chair and sat down. "We should talk."

Peter's eyes widened in alarm but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. Instead he just nodded.

"First thing, your wife wants me to tell you Fuschia." If it was possible, Peter's eyes widened further.

"You talked to El?" He swallowed and for a moment Neal was captivated by his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Fuchsia, Peter." He barely got the words out, his mouth felt like a desert.

"Yeah. Ok." Peter's shoulders slumped a little in relief.

"Second thing. You said my name." Peter clamped his eyes shut as a blush spread across his cheeks. "In the bathroom. As you... you said my name."

Peter brought a hand up and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "That's been..." He sighed and looked up. "That's been happening alot lately. I didn't know... I thought you'd left." He ducked his head and studied his fingers.

A warmth started in his chest and spread out over him until even his toes tingled. "I'm glad I didn't."

When Peter lifted his eyes again it was almost shyly, with a smile tilting up one side of his lips. "Me too."


	11. What a Wife Knows

Elizabeth lifted her shirt over her head and tugged her jeans and panties down off her hips and, leaving pool of clothing on the floor, slipped one foot into the steaming water. She sighed as she sat, sinking chin deep into bubbles that felt like silk and smelled like jasmine. She slid her hands up over her stomach and then further, enjoying the slick of her palms against her breasts.

Peter was working late and she didn't expect him home until after she was long asleep. She would never admit it to him, but sometimes she actually enjoyed these nights when she could eat takeout and watch a movie guaranteed to make her cry. While Peter was busy focusing on criminals and Neal, she got to focus on her.

Neal. She mused as a smile blossomed across her face. The undeniable relationship that was growing between the two men was a common bathtime fantasy for her, even if both men seemed absolutely clueless to the dance they were sharing. She'd catch wistful glances and how Neal had a habit of leaning into Peter's touch like a cat. The way Peter would come home from work and talk about his day and every part of it included "And Neal..." and he'd smile that had so long been reserved for just her.

And any woman would be worried, jealous. And honestly, the thought had crossed her mind. But this was Peter. And he loved her. And this was Neal. And he loved Peter. And somehow, it was ok. She'd stopped questioning herself months ago and now just spent a good portion of her alone time imagining what it would be like when the two of them finally admitted what she already knew.

She pinched lightly at her nipples and arched up into her touch at the thought of her husband, her big strong gentle, husband tracing Neal's jaw with those same feather light touches he used on her, before capturing the other man's lips with his own. Would he be gentle? Like he was with her? Or would his mouth be hungry and bruising?

She groaned as arousal surged through her at the thought of Peter pressing Neal against the wall, mouths open, tongues slicking, tasting, taking. Peter's hands tugging at clothing, seeking the heat of skin beneath them. Neal's own hands clutched right in her husbands hair as he struggled to pull him closer.

Her fingers had found their way to the center of her she loved the way she was hotter and somehow wetter than the water around her as she dipped a finger inside as she brushed her thumb over her clit. She added another finger and bit her lip to stifle her moan.

Her fantasy grew then, seemingly on fast forward as she slid her fingers in and out of herself, flashes of Peter's lips on Neal's neck, of buttons lost and then he was on his knees and Neal's fingers were in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as Peter fumbled with his belt.

Her breathing was ragged and loud in her ears, echoing off the bathroom walls, but she didn't attempt to silence herself as her fantasy husband finally reached inside and grasped his lovers cock. She increased the speed of her thrusts as Peter's hand started moving, grasping and gliding over Neal's erection. The image, the mere idea, of Peter's smile before he slid his tongue up Neal's length, eliciting a shudder and a low moan from him; sent her right over the edge and she climaxed around her fingers with a cry that vibrated around her in the small space.

She used her toe to pull the plug on the drain and got shakily to her feet, her legs felt like jello. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded her way down the hall. They hadn't made the bed that morning and she crawled gratefully between rumpled sheets, boneless and well spent. She rested her head on a pillow that smelled like Peter and fell asleep wondering when it would smell like Neal, too.


	12. Bad Day, Better Night

Neal trudged through the day. An endless stack of files that didn't seem to get any smaller, bad office coffee, a random cloudburst on an otherwise sunny day when he finally stepped outside for lunch. He'd about had it. It didn't help that Peter seemed to be having just a bad of day, problem being that he didn't seem to notice Neal's own misfortunes which meant his tone was sharper, he demands more intricate, and his leash tighter.

Neal glared up at him from where he sat at his desk. Peter was pacing the length of his office and back again, occasionally throwing his hands in the air; perfectly pantomiming an angry speakerphone call. He wanted to feel bad for the guy, budget cuts and extra workloads were weighing on everyone's mind lately but the real weight of them fell on Peter's shoulders. But then he remembered his dripping hat and squishy shoes and the next four hours strapped to his desk and suddenly, he just didn't care. They all had problems.

He started a doodle on the edge of a piece of scrap paper and his mind wandered aimlessly for awhile. "Neal." He jerked out of his stupor and looked up at the slightly bemused face of the man in question.

"Yeah?"

"That's... entertaining." He nodded his head at Neal's doodle, which had somehow morphed itself into a caricature or Peter, hands on his hips and smoke pouring out of his ears. "But have you gotten any actual work done?"

"Uh." He pulled a folder down onto the drawing and flashed a sheepish grin. "Not really."

"'Me either. Tell you what, if you get through 15 more files and have summarys on my desk, we'll get out of here early today." He ran a hand down his tie. "I'm kind of done with today. With this week."

"Time to go home, kiss your wife, throw a ball to your dog?"

"Something like that." He turned to walk away. "Fifteen, Neal. And I'll be ready to go when you are."

He brightened considerably after that, until he realized that fifteen was a lot and every file he opened just wore him down a little more. Finally he sighed and tossed his pen down on his desk. He slid his finger over the stack of cases, double checking his count. 15. Perfect.

He grabbed them and almost skipped his way to Peter's office. It was just a little after 3, this could still be considered an early release.

But when he pushed open the door he groaned. Peter was not ready to go. In fact, he looked angrier and more buried in paperwork than he had just a couple hours ago. He sighed as Neal stepped in and his look was almost apologetic. "I'm going to be here awhile yet, buddy. But I said you could go. Enjoy your day." He ducked his head back down to his desk.

"Is it anything I can help with?" Neal mentally slapped himself. He had been given a pass! He should be fleeing, not offering to stay.

Peter looked up, surprise written on his face. "Seriously?"

"It's Friday, Peter. Let me help you get home to your wife and dog." He smiled and pulled a chair out.

By the time they'd finished the office was dark and the sun was setting. He stretched and his spine popped in that way that told him he wasn't 20 anymore and sitting in an office chair all day was doing more harm than he wanted to admit.

"Thanks, Neal." Peter locked the office door and trailed after him through the bullpen.

"Hey, no problem. That's what friends are for."

"No, I mean it Neal. I would have been here all night and half of tomorrow without your help. I really appreciate it." They stopped at the elevator and Peter slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Have any plans tonight?"

"I've got a 2007 Gaja Barbaresco with my name on it, been looking forward to this bottle all week." The elevator slid open, they stepped in, and started the slow descent down.

Peter chuckled. "Did you want a ride home?"

"Nah, it's turned into a beautiful night and I could use the walk." They stepped outside the front doors and turned in opposite directions. "Have a nice night, Peter."

"Yeah." He brought a hand up in an awkward wave. "You too. See you Monday."

Neal nodded and turned away, he took a deep breath and started the trek home. He'd lied, sort of. There was a gorgeous bottle of red waiting for him, but he had no intention of drinking it. He had absolutely no plans. Even Mozzie was out of town; he was completely on his own all weekend and he was looking forward to it.

Starting tonight with a shower, probably rub one off, relieve some of the tension he could feel tightening behind his ears. Then takeout from his favorite place and then a movie that he'd never admit to watching, something with more explosions than plot and popcorn with too much butter.

But when he reached his apartment door, the silence felt more pressing than relaxing and something ached, cold and lonely. He toed his way out of his shoes and stripped off his jacket. He picked up his phone to call for takeout and almost dropped it when it rang in his hand. "Hey."

"Elizabeth says I am an idiot and that I should have brought you home with me."

Neal laughed. "Your wife is an extremely smart woman."

"We're not doing much. Order in, plotless movie, popcorn, beer?" He sounded amused.

"That sounds incredible." Something blossomed warm through his chest and he brought a hand up and absently rubbed.

"Be there in 30?"

"I'll be ready." Enough time for that shower.

"Ok."

"Hey Peter?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime, buddy. You're always welcome here. Stop forgetting that or Elizabeth is going to have my head one of these nights."

He smiled. "I don't doubt it. I'll see you soon."


	13. A Change of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into some sort of messy stream of consciousness thing that I am not terribly proud of. It feels disjointed and sloppy and incomplete. Maybe someday I'll come back and clean it up a little. idk. ugh. Anyways.

Truth was, his favorite mastabatory fantasy was an old one. Pretty much the same as it was when he was 13 and dropping crusty socks behind his headboard. Sure, he had others, but this particular one was a favorite, over the years it had evolved, in part due to his own experiences and as he grew, the faces changed - the body pressing against his routinely changed depending on the people he had met.

But one thing that had never changed, it had always been the body, the face, the cries; of a woman. Until recently. It had started with the slightly blurry face of a man he'd seen only from a distance. The make believe sensation of hard planes and strong hands. It startled him, the first time when he came harder than he had in a long time.

And as the chase increased he found he was just as attracted to the man's mind as he was his body. And then there were late night phone and he had his voice in his head, too. And then there was that incident with the sucker, a stupid move, an unnecessary risk. But when he took himself in his fist that nigh he came harder than he could remember, images crystal clear in his mind. The very idea that now this man, his agent, knew his face too, was maybe thinking of him too...

He was almost too happy to get caught. To feel his touch. Four years was a long time, but it wasn't the end. And during those years, it was Kate who sustained him, but Peter who fueled him.

It was Kate when he was lonely and craved soft and warmth and gentle. It was Kate when he was homesick for freedom and missed the smell of the ocean and the soft of freshly washed sheets.

It was Peter when he was angry or when e missed the chase. Missed the adrenaline of being wanted and hunted. When he needed rough and brilliant and someone stronger than him to bruise and take and apologize in bites and whispers.

And the two of the brought balance to prison, kept him sane without knowing it. Gave him something to look forward to every night. And he survived.

And now, all these years later and Kate is gone and he misses (missed) those comforting ideas of a home and a family and love. He thought he had lost them with that plane and for awhile that was ok.

Because that fantasy, that familiar thought wasn't the same anymore with her and he didn't deserve that comfort.

So it was Peter again, who would leave him with bruises he deserved and wouldn't stay the night and who would never lie to make him happy. He couldn't turn fantasy Peter into memories of Kate and he was glad.

But he had underestimated Peters ability to care. And when, against all odds, Peter hasn't fled when he'd confessed, he'd realized that he wasn't Kate. And he wasn't Alex. And he wasn't Sara. And that was a good thing because he was Peter. He didn't always get it right, he was sloppy with his affection and blushed and stuttered and planned and pulled away when those plans started falling apart. But then he was strong and capable and smart and always caught on when he needed to, even if it took him too long, sometimes.

He was gentler than he had spent time imagining. His hands big and rough and careful. His kisses soft and light and playful. He didn't fight for dominance like his fantasies made him expect. He gave control as often as he took it but mostly shared it and they were equals, always, and that was good. It was great, it was better. They had soft and careful and so tender that sometimes something ached in his chest like tears unshed and he had to bite at his lips to keep from spilling the truth of them.

And sometimes they had it rough and he had bruises from sharp edges of doors and walls and tables. He had a full set of purple fingerprints that ached when he pressed them, so he spent a whole day pressing, to remind himself of after. When Peter has seen them and traced them and looked sort of proud of them. How he'd pressed his lips to them and how he's brought those kisses up along his ribs and his shoulder and his neck. How He'd apologized for hurting him as he whispered those kisses over his eyelids and down his cheeks before capturing his lips. Even when he was rough and taking, he was always giving.

And Neal knew, without a doubt, what this was, what this meant; when he realized he hadn't used that fantasy in a long time. When he pulled it up from the depths of his mind and lost it over and over again as it was replaced with these new images he had, these real images.

Of Peter, who now felt more like home than Kate ever did. Who oozed comfort and safety and warmth. It was nights tucked between him and his wife, with their arms laced over his skin and this was love and he was home. And it wasn't anything like his fantasy, it was better.


	14. To Dream; Perchance to Sleep

He couldn't sleep. He'd had a long day followed by a dull night, full of pizza and beer and only himself for company; El was at some trade show out of town for the next two nights. He'd fallen asleep on the couch out o sheer boredom and when he'd jerked awaken and dragged him butt upstairs, he was sure he'd drop right off again. No. He tossed back and forth on the bed, nothing feeling comfortable. The pillows too soft and too lumpy, the blanket too hot, no blanket too cold. He opened his eyes and searched for the clock, surely he'd been laying here for the entire night at this point. When he found it he groaned, he'd only been upstairs for twenty minutes.

Sighing, he turned onto his back and laced his fingers over his chest. He concentrated on relaxing his muscle groups, one at a time, starting with his toes, his ankles, calves. He worked his way up his body, finally dropping his shoulders down onto the mattress and his cheeks, that right spot behind his ears, even his scalp relaxed when he told it to. This was a trick El used on him when he couldn't sleep. And apparently it didn't work nearly as we'll without her soft voice behind it. He lay there, as still and as calm as he could for as long as he could stand it. Finally he gave up and peered longingly at the clock again. Five more minutes. Bringing his grand total of bedtime to still under a half hour.

He missed El. How her hand would slide across his belly, the weight of it warm and comforting and relaxing. How sometimes when he couldn't see to fall asleep she'd let him be the little spoon and would mumble sleepily into the back of his shoulder until sleep overtook him. How she liked to slip warm fingers under the elastic of his pajama pants, stroking, petting, playing, until he was rock hard and thrusting helplessly into her hand until she wrapped her fist around him and she used long firm strokes until he came with a shudder and a gasp.

Yeah, he missed her. He cock was straining now, at the thought of her touch, and he didn't waste a second of the fantasy as he reached down and tugged his erection free of the confines of his boxers. His touch was harder and rougher than hers would be, his hand bigger and his stroke faster and far more urgent. He teased his balls with the other hand, rolling them in his fingers as his breathing grew erratic and his body tightened, aching and thrumming with arousal.

He increased his speed and gasped every time his hand slipped over the tip only to slide down again, pulling overheated over sensitive skin tight. And when he came, hot against his belly, his toes curled, his whole body clenched, and Elizabeth's name came tumbling off his lips. He sagged back against the pillows he groped out and found the box of tissues by the bed and wiped himself up as best he could. And then he lay there, his panting turning to deep even breaths, his heart rate slowly falling back to normal.

And as he listened to the pound of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing he was only sort of aware as he eased off into sleep


	15. Someone to Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-series, Neal makes a late night call.

"If I come for you, are you going to log this call into evidence?" The voice was slightly breathless.

"Who is this?" Peter struggled to come fully awake and pushed himself into a sitting position. He'd fallen asleep on the couch some hours earlier.

"Oh, Peter. You wound me." A familiar chuckle.

"Neal Caffrey." His brain finally caught up.

"Got it in one. Now back to my original question. Would you tell on me?" He made a mewling sound. "Peter?"

"This call isn't being recorded, Caffrey. But you know that." Peter frowned. "What's your endgame with this?"

"You've never taken yourself in hand?" A low moan escaped. "I think you know what my endgame is."

"Caffrey." Peter shook his head lightly to free himself of the image Neal was presenting. "Do you routinely call strangers so they can listen to you beat off?"

"You're far from a stranger, Agent Burke." Another set of gasping breaths. "Do you routinely not hang up when a stranger calls you to rub off in your ear?"

"You're far from a stranger, Caffrey." He stood and paced his way through the kitchen. "I'll do my best to write this off as a dream tomorrow."

"Never mention it again?" His words heavy and strained and it wasn't hard for Peter to imagine him, cock in hand, and he clamped his eyes shut hard.

"As long as it never happens again." He almost almost regretted the words as they left his lips.

"Give me this, Peter, and I'll never ask for it again." He sounded close, his words almost painful.

Peter pulled the phone away, trying to ignore the stirrings of his own cock as the other man panted heavily in his ear. "Do it then."

"Say it .. Say it like you mean it." On the edge of release and still taking. "Please, Peter?"

Peter swallowed hard, aware of how insane this was. The con he'd been hunting for years, basically coming in his kitchen. He hated that if anyone walked in right now he would not be able to deny how turned on he was. "Come for me, Neal. Let me hear you."

"Fuck, Peter." A series of panting cries was followed by a beat of silence and a low moan that sent arousal blooming through Peter.

"Neal?"

A laugh, sleepy and low. "Thanks." And then a dial tone.

And when he went upstairs and woke his wife with kisses and touches a little rougher than usual, if he made love to her a little too enthusiastically, if he bit his tongue to keep the other man’s name out of her ears... well.

Her eyes twinkled when she asked "Where did that come from?"

And he felt another jolt in his belly. Arousal or fear or guilt, he wasn't sure. But then he remembered. "Good dream."

El snuggled In a little closer. "Best dream."


	16. Truth in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure I should be left alone with these characters today. Anything I try and do with them turns into... this. There's clearly a filter missing between my head and my keyboard and I'm sorry.

He didn't like to admit it, how much of a hopeless romantic he was. But he really really was. Which, of course, led to a life of broken hearts and a gut wrenching sensation of not being good enough. He knew better, sure he did; his cocky attitude and winning smile, both there to ooze confidence and tell a lie.

But really, down somewhere he only shared with himself, he didn't feel like the truth of him was worth seeing. And his whole life had proven that to him. Women, they feel for his charm and his smile and the way he filled his tailored suits. All that got them home and in his bed and they stayed for breakfast and they'd go out again and dance with him and laugh with him and he'd think Maybe this one. But no, it never was because clearly there was something (something) wrong with him because always somewhere between date 5 and date 8 something goes incredibly wrong and he's left alone again, fisting his own cock angrily (sadly, in truth, don't listen to his lies) and wondering what in him isn't worth loving.

But then he doesn't wonder, not really because he's not a good guy. He's not. He tries, he's been trying, he's better; but he's not someone anyone imagines standing behind a white picket fence with a minivan in the driveway and 2.4 kids playing in the yard. But he does. He does. And maybe that's the problem. Who knows?

So when one night, after Mozzie let him drink too much and talk to much and feel too much, if he lets his imagination take the form of a wife who loves him; like El and how she loves Peter, how she trusts him. But not El, because of that trust (and maybe because he loves her. And him. And them. And maybe knowing the can’t have, hurts a little), but just like El. Someone who sees his all and takes what he can offer and then asks for that little bit more that ultimately makes him better. And if he lets himself imagine someone, maybe she looks a little like El, and maybe when he comes, with make believe love in his chest, it's better and he aches for reality. And maybe with not-El on his mind and loneliness in his chest he makes a phone call that he shouldn’t be making.

And, truth, maybe he's a little too drunk and maybe he doesn't care. And when his words sound broken in his own ears he still doesn't care, "What's wrong with me, Elizabeth?"

He doesn't care because she's ignoring that he woke her up in the middle of the night after using her imaginary doppelgänger to stroke his erection (not that she knew that, and why should she, it wasn't her; it wasn't.). And still she's making sympathetic sounds and it's tugging at his heartstrings and something glows at her words "Oh, baby, Nothing."

And then he tries to tell her about the empty but maybe he's drunker than he thought and it doesn't sound right to him because he's pretty sure "I think I love you guys." Wasn't supposed to come out of his mouth.

He panics as he says it because he can't take it back and even as he's fumbling to disconnect the call he hears her intake of breath and then she's rousing Peter. Big brilliant Peter, Peter who knows the all of him (except this) and didn't run (yet) who searches for him and finds him (always). Peter, who's gentle with hearts even when he doesn't know how. Grumpy Peter who is not going to take this well, or lightly. Especially not at this ungodly hour.

But then it's too late and her hand is over the receiver but he can hear Peter's grumble, the smooth of his voice; if not the words. And his heart pounds because everyone he'd ever thought he loved has left and he can't imagine them gone and his heart is breaking and he doesn't realize he's crying until it’s Peter's voice in his ear. "Hey, Neal. Hey. Hey buddy, stop."

And he sucks in a breath and it shudders into his lungs and he holds it there. "M'sorry." It rushes out and it burns because he is, this is what's wrong with him. He's always always taking more than he should, more than people are willing to give.

"No, Neal. Stop. Don't." His voice is low and commanding and he bites at his fist to obey and it still tastes like his come. And that's not ok because he did this himself with his stupid fantasy that was supposed to get him off, not break his heart but somehow did both.

He can hear the shuffle of movement, the clank of keys. He hears El, something about a jacket and wind and how slippers aren't shoes and nobody is talking to him but he clings anyway. "I should go." He says to no one because they're not listening anymore but then there's a blast of a horn and they are listening because El answers him, her voice full of something he can't name. "No, Neal. Stay. Stay. We're almost there."

He blinks stupidly into the dim of his apartment. "Almost where?"

Peter answers this time, because it needed to come from him, it did. "Someone hurts right now. Someone who loves us hurts because he doesn't know that we love him, too. And we need to make that right."

There was that warm again, that glow. But he tamped it down and just no. Because happiness isn't made for guys like him. Life had proven that over and over again. "He's not worth it, Peter."

"Oh, Neal.' El sounded sad.

"He is. Dammit, you are." Peter sounded angry.

He dropped the phone then, losing it somewhere in the sheets. He curled up as small as he could get and buried his face in the pillow.

When the knocking started, when Peter yelled through the door, when Elizabeth begged so quietly that he almost couldn't hear her through the wood, he ignored them.

And when he heard the click of the door, because of course Peter had a key, he turned his face away from their murmurs and the sound of shoes dropping and keys clicking on the table top. And the bed dipped and for a moment Peter was over him, warm and heavy, before dropping gently to the other side. And then their air mingled and Peter's hand was on his back and tugging him closer and Neal gave in and let their eyes meet for just a second before he pressed his face into the other man's shoulder and let himself be tucked into the safest expanse of chest and arms and Peter that he'd ever experienced. And when he had him there, pulled in flush against him, the bed dipped again and Elizabeth was there too and she was soft against him, her hand somehow sneaking between him and Peter and curling against his heart and her breath was warm against his neck and he melted into them.

He was warm and he was safe and they hadn't left, in fact they came. And he certainly wasn't being charming right now. Or charismatic or anything really. Besides a blubbering drunken mess and they saw that and they were here and he hadn't even tried or given anything except the broken pieces of him and they were here.

And when the relief washed over him and a sob escaped it was the real El, with her real love, that flattened her hand against his heart and rubbed a small circle.

And it was Peter, who always said it wrong, who got it right in his awkward way. "I love you. We love you. We do. All of you, Neal. Not just the things you think are worth it. All of you. And we're here."

And he believed him.


	17. A Helping  Hand

He stepped into the hot spray behind him and pressed kisses between his shoulder blades and up his neck. "We missed you this morning."

"Sorry." He started to turn but Peter brought both hands up to his shoulders, effectively holding him in place. "I didn't want to interrupt."

Peter tugged and pulled him against him, Neal's back to his chest. "You're never interrupting." He ran his nails down Neal's arms and across his ribs, eliciting a soft shudder from the other man. "Don't you understand yet?" He moved his hands across his stomach and up his chest. "There is no us and you. Not anymore." Kisses along his shoulder and the junction of his neck. "Just us." His tongue traced the shell of his ear. "And we missed you."

Neal groaned as Peter's wandering fingers scraped lightly over his nipples. "I know. I know but..."

"No buts, Neal. Neither one of us likes the idea that you think, because we start without you because you're sleeping like the dead, that you're not wanted. I mean, honestly it's flattering that whatever you saw brought you here. With this." He ran his hand down over the length of Neal's erection.

"Oh, fuck. Peter." He turned his head and found his jaw sucking kisses to it as he brought his hand up over Peter's, coercing him into three more strokes before he pulled his hand away and chuckled in his ear.

"You've been busy." He ran both hands down his spine and over the slope of his ass. "Don't let me stop you." His fingers scratching lightly over his hips now, down and then back up again over his crack, slipping in, but not far enough to graze his hole, and Neal bucked up against him, trying for that last quarter inch.

His hand had stilled on his cock when Peter pulled away but at the gentle swipes of his fingers his fist was moving again. Short hard strokes that had him gasping into Peters neck as his fingers teasingly, maddeningly, slicked their way up and down, almost almost and then away.

He groaned his frustration and pushed back into Peter. He was rewarded with a pinch to his nipple and a nip to his earlobe. "Come on, Peter. Please."

Another laugh, deep and low and Peter's chest vibrated against his back. "You know I love it when you ask nice." And then his finger was there, teasing, pressing; firm and searching. Neal cried out as he breached him, slow and with too much care.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck." He pulled hard on his cock, grateful for Peter's arm around him as his knees wavered and his thighs tightened. The next thrust of Peter's finger brushed against his prostate and he yelped as he came hard, his body tight and thrumming even as he sagged back against the wall of Peter to support himself.

Peter turned him in his arms like a rag doll and pressed kisses to his forehead, his eyes, his jaw, and finally caught his lips. His mouth demanding and open, his hands in his wet hair and tugging him close. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were darker than usual and his lips swollen. "Clean yourself up, Neal. Elizabeth probably has breakfast done."

And with another press of lips, he pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the shower leaving Neal feeling loved and thoroughly chastised for his solo indiscretion.


	18. Something Missing

He'd woken late with a persistent case of morning wood. Probably the leftover residue of a dream he didn't quite finish. Probably the same dream that was so demanding that he'd slept through his alarm.

Probably the fault of one Peter Burke, who starred said dream, complete with overtly talented fingers and mouth and cock. Neal sighed, he couldn't shake the dream sensations. And Peter, speaking of Peter, was going to be here very soon and was not going to be amused of Neal wasn't ready.

Under the spray of the water, with shampoo in his hair and Peter on his mind, he took his cock in hand and stroked himself quietly and quickly. It wasn't the release his body had been searching for, when he came. It felt empty and mechanical and he took his frustration out on himself as he scrubbed soap down his body and then stood fully under the spray to rinse off. Water rushed from the top of his head and down to the top of his toes.

Once he was totally bubble free, he stepped out and wrapped in a towel. A glance at his watch on the vanity told him he had about 5 minutes.

And sure enough, Peter knocked as if one cue. "You're late, Neal."

"I know Peter." He had his socks in his hand and his hair was wet. He say down and slipped into the socks, shoes next. He was moving on autopilot, which was probably good.

"What's wrong with you?" There was concern in Peter's voice and, truth, Neal's heart hurt a little.

"Overslept. That's never happened to you?" He put as much sarcasm into his voice as he could, feeling cold and lonely and craving something.

"You don't look like a guy who overslept. You look like someone just kicked your puppy." And then Peter was there with a hand on his back and worry on his face and there it was, the feeling of completion and warmth that his shower beat off hadn't provided. That easy.

He found the desire to smile for the first time all morning and if Peter looked at him a little weird as he bounced to his feet and clapped a hand to his shoulder, well, he didn't need to know what Neal took, what he seemed to be taking a lot of lately, that made him happy.

Peter Burke had a lot of love to go around. And it's not like he noticed when Neal siphoned off more than his share. It's not like he noticed, right?


	19. Hot As Temper

Neal fisted his cock lazily. It was a good day for it, really. Arguing with Peter always got him a little hot and today had been no exception. He twirled to wine glass in his other hand before taking a small sip.

Peter didn't have a hot temper. He didn't just erupt for no reason, not usually. Usually it was like a slow burn, a build up of glares and frowns. Of warnings and soft pleading to "Please just behave this time."

And if Neal liked to poke the dragon for his own selfish reasons, well, Peter always forgave him. He might not, if he knew what his pissed off voice did for Neal. If he knew how turned on he got every time he barked "Goddamit, Neal!"

It wasn't a tactic Neal used often, after all it wasn't exactly fun the next day when he had to try and clean what he had intentionally tarnished. But sometimes, it was worth it for the way his cock throbbed and how intense he knew this orgasm would be.

He rolled his balls between his fingers and sighed. Yeah, sometimes it was worth it alright. He didn't always need to make him angry, he didn't actually like him to be mad, he just liked him intense. Sometimes the chase did that, a thief they couldn't catch or a con they couldn't break.

Those nights were good too. He slid his thumb over his slit and groaned. Peter - jacket shed, holster on, sleeves rolled up. That's where Neal's mind liked to take him. To the image of him, grasping the back of a chair, the muscles of his forearms working as he squeezed. The muscles of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and tried his best to stay calm.

And then his hands on his hips and a spark in his eye and suddenly all of that tension and intensity was directed at Neal and damn, damn, it was hot.

Sometimes he made it home, like tonight. Other times he didn't, coming in the men's bathroom like the pervert that he is. Maybe that was his unconscious desire to get caught.

But tonight there was no chance of that as he came into his fist with a jolt and a groan. And then his guilt caught up to him again, like it did sometimes, and he groped for his phone. Peter was mad and sent him to voicemail.

When he spoke his voice was still tinged with desire that he was sure Peter would write off as some other emotion more in line with his words.

"Hey. Listen, I'm sorry. I should have known better, ok? Let me make it up to you."


	20. Train of Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tale of turtles, squirrels, and a very lucky walrus. I'm going to go ahead and lable this as crack. lol

"You know what I love, P'ter?" Neal rolled his head against the back of the seat to face Peter and grinned.

Peter groaned. "At this point, Neal, I'm not sure I want to know." He shot him a look. "They really gave you the good stuff, huh?"

"Turtles. I fricking love Turtles." He laughed. "Good stuff, yeah. Best stuff." His words slurred and he held up his wrist. "Did I tell you it was broken? Cuz it's broken."

"I know, Neal. And I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault 'twas icy." His smile drooped. "And I'm clumsy."

"We'll, I have to admit. It was kind of refreshing, seeing you as less than graceful. But next time you don't actually have to injure yourself."

"That's not nice, P'ter. I din't mean to fall." He looked crestfallen.

"I know, buddy." Peter sighed. Stoned Neal took things too seriously sometimes. "So, why do you love Turtles?"

And the grin was back. "They are beautiful. Each shell is a piece of art! And they have homes no matter where they go and they make squeaking noises when they masturbate."

Peter stifled a laugh. "What?"

"They live in their shells, P'ter! It's like a mobile home. How cool would that be? To go anywhere anytime and never have to worry about finding somewhere to stay." He blew a raspberry and threw his hands up. "Coolest thing ever."

"That's not what I... you know what? That would be, uh, cool." He rolled his eyes.

"And squirrels, too." He lowered his voice and looked at Peter conspirately. "They eat their own ejaculate."

He didn't bother trying to suppress his laugh this time. "Neal, do you spend your night googling the masturbation habits of random animals? "

"What? Noooo." He looked offended. "Why would you think that?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I have no idea, buddy. I have no idea."

Neal was quiet for a long moment before he spoke up again cheerfully. "Did you know what walruses can suck their own...."

"Neal!" Peter shot him a look and shook his head. "No more drugs, or google, for you."

Neal crossed his arms over his chest, like a child, and pulled his best dejected face. "Lucky walrus."

Peter sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon with a, apparently, horny Neal Caffrey all drugged up on his sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, as far as google is concerned the above facts are true. If they turn out to be false... well, then they are the creation of someone else's imagination.


	21. To Be Gone

Truth is, sometimes, after dinner when they're all sitting around doing the things they do; Peter with the game on and a file in his lap, Elizabeth pretending to answer emails between YouTube videos that make her snort into her hand, and himself, sketchbook in hand - he feels claustrophobic. The rooms are absolutely permeated in love and commitment and he hates that the image his hand creates isn't Elizabeth's smile or that startled look Peter gets when his pen falls, jerking him awake.

He's been drawing scenes of open, of different, of a type of freedom he thought he didn't want. He loves them, he does. He's where he wants to be. But sometimes the bed made for two feels far too small for three and he finds himself clinging to the edge wondering when he'll fall.

And sometimes he finds himself utterly overwhelmed by the way Peter seems to know he's flailing and tucks an arm over his chest in his sleep and subconsciously tries to anchor him down. Sometimes when Elizabeth lifted her head off the pillow and watched as he sklinked out of the room his heart ached with the desire to want to stay there with them.

He'd found what he wanted. And it really was - a home and family and acceptance, completely. But he was losing the urge to run before the con dissolved and he found himself just a piece to a puzzle that didn't quite fit.

He hasn't started this with the intention of leaving. He'd started with the intention of happiness and love and together. He'd never have asked their hearts, they weren't treasures to steal, if he'd had any intention of hurting them.

And he was hurting them. He felt the pain of his rejection when he excused himself from their bed. He felt like an invader when he'd stop in the doorway and look back to see them moving together, without him. He couldn't see the hole he left, once he was gone, so he always left. If he stayed and they had to see the gap he was creating, then in their most vulnerable moments, he was afraid seeing that hurt.

And if either of them noticed he spent longer in the shower, because he's a man and the need is biological, instead of in their bed; nobody mentioned it. Nobody wanted to be the one ton point out that he was drifting and didn't even know of he wanted to find his way back.

So after a night of fake smiles and forces conversation, a night he spent capturing the beauty of a far away place he ached to see again; when he eased in beside them long after lights out and he found Peter awake and staring at the ceiling and the other man's words burned as he reached over and clasped Neal's hand. "We're going to miss you."

He felt the truth in them, the pain and the ache in them, but he couldn't find it in him to voice a fake denial. "I know. I'm sorry." And when he rolled away and laid facing out into the dark room, Peter didn't reach for him, didn't pull him in or say another word.

Sleep was a long time coming and when he opened his eyes, they were both gone, having slipped out and went about their lives while he teetered on the edge of a dream.

Tears burned as he packed a bag and then two. They fell in earnest as he booked a flight and fingered photos on the wall. And when the taxi honked out front and he locked the door behind him, he slipped the key into his pocket, instead of under the door like he planned. Getting I had been hard. Letting go was agony.

He kept his phone and couldn't stop himself from checking for texts or calls. He criticized himself for it, why should they contact him? He's the one who left. He rented an apartment with a view of the foreign skyline and he savored it, spending too much time soaking up the feeling of this, the excitement of new.

All the while aching for that bed too small for three.

For the first week he was disappointed when he woke up alone. The second, he missed arms around him when he went to sleep. The third he tries in vain to replicate the way Elizabeth made pancakes and almost had a meltdown because they just didn't taste the same. By the end of the first month he was calling their names as he fisted his cock, something he hadn't done in months.

He missed them, so much. Everywhere he went he saw beauty that was tainted because it wasn't Elizabeth's smile. Men on their phones just around the corner al sounded like Peter and his heartrate rocketed at least twice a day because he was sure, he was absolutely sure, that he'd be there when he rounded the corner.

By the end of week six he tormented himself daily because they hadn't called; but hadn't he all but begged to be set free? Week eight and he had their key in his pocket as he walked aimlessly around this place that didn't feel like home, that never would. His fingers always touching, tracing, wearing the metal down one thumb stroke at a time and his had an illogical fear that one day it would disappear altogether.

He had t heard their voices in two months. Two months and he was finding it hard to remember to breathe. And he got angry because of they loved him, if he meant to them even half of the promises they made, shouldn't they miss him? Shouldn't they miss him and need him and ache like he does?

And he opened the phone he charged every night and hasn't used since he left. He pressed the keys in anger and with hurt and disgust in his heart. He typed out a text full of those feelings and then deleted the whole thing with a broken sob. The only thing that mattered was one question, six words. So when he did break the silence and sent a text a it read was "Why don't you miss me, too?" And then he watched as his aim was true and it flipped through the air before disappearing into the river.

Two months and a week and there was a knock on his door. And rapping that turned into a pounding that sounded frantic.

He pulled open the door and Peter caught him as he crumpled. He was rumpled and smelled of airports and sweat and Neal was sure he'd never understood beauty until now. And he knew he'd never heard it before when Peter's voice touched his ear. "We do, Neal. Come home."

He nodded and tucked himself close and pulled that worn key from his pocket. "I don't think I ever figured out how to leave."

It would be a long road back, they'd trusted, he'd taken. But now he knew that what he needed was also what he wanted and that it was something he could still have. And that was the best first step he'd ever taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And no, from the bottom of my heart I don't know why I can only write angsty feels. I don't know, ok? :( I think it's because my RL is full of angsty feels, atm. Rats. I'll try for dirty again tomorrow.


	22. Someone to Hold Me

She was stretched out between his legs, her head on his thigh and the soft waves of her hair tickling against his cock. She was naked, one hand teasing her nipples, the other softly stroking at her clit. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and every so often she'd whimper as she tilted her hips off the mattress.

He watched but didn't touch, not her or himself, that's what she'd asked for. That's what she needed tonight, to be held and not touched until she was ready. And he was always happy to make her happy. This three way relationship was still new, it had blossomed between him and Peter and grew to consume her as well. But it was still a rare thing when it was just the two of them in the bed together and he cherished it.

She tossed her head side to side, the slide of her hair against his overheated skin was like an addiction and he groaned.

That seemed to do something for her because she gasped and he watched as she slid two fingers into her center, the rhythm was intoxicating and seemed to match the throb in his cock. Every down motion of her fingers was met with up motion of her hips as she searched for that perfect depth, speed, and angle.

She was making whining noises in the back of her throat and her eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, frustration. She was clawing at his leg now, leaving small half moons scattered down his shin, her free hand grasping. Her body was strung right, her head and shoulders pressed hard into him.

"God, Elizabeth. You are so beautiful. Come on, El. Be a good girl and come for me." His own hands were balled into fists and pressed right into the bed beside him to resist touching.

She growled low in her throat and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. "Oh. Fuck." She sucked in a lungful of air and raised her hips off the bed as her orgasm washed over her.

He watched as her body relaxed and she turned her head to look up at him again. With a sly grin she brought her hand up and slipped her fingers into her mouth. She hummed as she pulled them free again and offered them to him.

His cock was aching and leaking and the taste of her on her fingers drove him to action and he grabbed at her. He tugged her gently up his body as she giggled and offered little assistance as he flipped her so they were laying chest to chest.

He thrust his dick against her hip and she wiggled against him, her promise that his reward for doing as she wanted was coming.


	23. There Was Something

here was something seductive about the fedora. "Fuck. Leave it on."

There was something unbearable about his eyes; blue, open, intense. "Whatever you want, Peter."

There was something incredible about the way he prowled after him, stripping off clothes as he got closer. "Want to taste you."

There was something solid behind him, Neal had backed him into a wall as he approached. "Jesus Neal."

There was something indescribable when he took charge and Peter's brain was melting. "You've got too many clothes on."

There was something embarrassing when his fingers fumbled over his own buttons. "Let me."

There was something maddening about his perfect fingers slipping buttons easily, his belt was opened as lips crashed together. "Need you, Peter."

There was something reassuring when their eyes met and he licked his lower lip, asking permission he didn't need. "On your knees, Neal."

There was something alluring about Neal on his knees, a weakness of Peter's they both knew about.

There was something arousing about the way he stroked his own cock even as he did things with his tongue that had Peter thrumming.

There was something about the way his gasps and moans vibrated against Peter's cock that had him twisting his fingers through Neal's hair.

There was something about the way the pace on his own cock picked up as Peter's breath starting coming fast, that reassured him that Neal was doing this for his own pleasure too, just as he always said.

There was something unbearable as Neal's gaze came up and met his as his balls tightened. "Gonna, fuck Neal. Gonna come."

There was nothing, then, except the rush of blood in his ears and the low hum of assent against his cock as he came with a rush and a growl.

There was nothing but approval, after, as Neal didn't let up until he was gasping his own orgasm around the cock in his mouth.

Then, there was everything as he got to his feet, swiping at the corner of his mouth in the dirtiest of ways. There was everything because he tasted of Peter when he brought their lips together again.

There was something. And maybe it was just lust. But they both knew better. There was something, and it felt a little like love.


	24. This for That

"What makes you think I do?" El shot them a grin. "After all, I have the two of you."

Neal arched an eyebrow. "Well, I have the two of you. And I do."

"So do I, El." Peter was grinning wickedly. "What makes you special?"

She opened her eyes wide and dropped her jaw in mock shock. "I'm a girl."

Neal laughed out loud. "The dirtiest little minx of a girl I've ever shared a bed with."

Peter nodded in agreement and looked over to Neal. "She is, isn't she?"

"Oh, undeniably."

"And there is no way she's keeping her hands off herself when we're not available."

"Not a chance."

She squirmed, both sets of eyes were locked on her now and her nipples tightened under their intense scrutiny. She rolled her eyes and felt arousal wash over her. "And it is so good, boys."

Neal's face broke into a grin as he stepped forward and caught her lip between his teeth. Peter groaned and moved close enough to force their lips apart with a hand to El's chin. She tasted like Neal when he ran his tongue against hers.

He broke the kiss. "Damn." And then it was Neal's fingers on his jaw and he had the same sensations in reverse; the taste of his wife on another's tongue.

Neal pulled away and grinned. "Double damn."

Peter's eyes grew wide, he was suddenly inspired. "Can we watch?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to arch an eyebrow. "Can you..."

"Watch." Neal jumped on the bandwagon, his eyes twinkling.

She mulled it over for a second. "Quid pro quo?"

"Yes." Both their voices rang out as one and she laughed.

"That, my boys, is an offer I can't refuse." She took each of their hands and led the way upstairs. "Show time."


	25. This is More

At Elizabeth's urging they'd gone out. On a date. A real date. One with a bad movie and an awkward dinner where all they found to talk about was the bad movie. They had known each other for years, and they'd needed a place to start, they'd been avoiding these feelings for far too long. But clearly labeling this as a date had been a bad idea.

Except... except Peter couldn't deny the surge of adrenaline every time their hands met in the popcorn. He'd even pulled the yawn and stretch so he could spend the last 20 minutes of the movie drawing circles into the fabric of Neal's jacket.

Neal, who was casual dressed and relaxed. Neal, whose smile was shyer, his laugh lower and easier. Neal who, as they were walking back to June's, stepped closer and closer. Close enough so their fingers brushed. Close enough so Peter didn't have to reach when he took his hand.

He found it soothing the Neal's hand fit in his as well as Elizabeth's, that there was no awkward rearrangement of fingers. He squeezed and Neal squeezed back and they'd never done this before and somehow it felt like a barrier had come down, crumbled between their palms.

"You make me feel like a teenager." They came to a stop outside Neal's front gate. Peter laughed at himself.

Neal ducked his head. "Glad I'm not the only one. I was starting to feel ridiculous." He peered up through his lashes. "Are you coming up?"

Peter shook his head. "What kind of boy do you think I am?" There was teasing in his voice and a smile ghosted across his face. He stepped closer. "But I will kiss you goodnight. If, if you want me to."

Neal's tongue darted out to wet his lips and he nodded. "I want."

Peter leaned in and stopped, waited; his breath caught. Neal closed the gap and stole the exhale of a gasp from Peter's lips. This wasn't anything like kissing Elizabeth. Their lips moved, learned. Peter found his hands in Neal's hair as his tongue begged entrance. He granted it willingly and Neal sighed as the kiss deepened.

After moments or days or some insurmountable period of time that wasn't long enough, Neal pulled away. Peter rested his forehead against his as they drew shaky breaths. "Are you sure you won't come up?"

Peter groaned, his resolve fading. "This is more than that." He finally spit out. "God, Neal. Tell me this is more than that."

Neal's hands came up, his thumbs tracing Peter's jaw. "This is more." He pulled him down again and caught his lips gently. "So much more."

Peter visibly relaxed. "Then yes, I'm sure I'm not coming up tonight." He winked, his confidence returning. "I didn't make love to the woman I eventually married for three months after our first date."

Neal laughed. "Poor Elizabeth." Then he stopped and met Peter's eyes, his own wide. "Poor me."

"Why rush? This is the fun part, Neal. This is the part with the kisses," he pressed his lips against the corners of his mouth. "This is the part with the stolen touches." He slid fingers against his wrist, touched his pulse and slid up the back of his arm to just above the elbow. "This is the part with fantasies and desire." He pressed his lips to Neal's neck and bit light at the junction of his shoulder.

"Jesus, Peter. There will be fantasies, there already are but you're blowing them away."

"There will be that, too." Pete's voice was husky against his ear.

Neal stepped back. His face was flushed and his pupils wide. "Oh, Peter."

Peter smiled, it was soft again and his eyes held Neal's. "Goodnight." He reached up and flipped an errant piece of hair off Neal's forehead.

"G'night." Neal caught his hand as he pulled it away and pressed his lips to his wrist. "It's the more that's going to make it better tonight.

"I know. Me too." He pulled away and turned around.

Neal watched him until he reached his car and got inside. He stood plastered to the gate until he pulled away from the corner. And he fumbled with the key because he couldn't stop watching the tail lights until the disappeared.

His cock was already aching and half hard and he didn't waste any time before he stripped down and got himself off, the taste of Peter's tongue still on his lips. And he had been right, it made it better.


	26. Something to look forward to

"I'll be fine, guys." Neal stood in the Burkes kitchen.

"I know, baby. We just feel bad." El reached a hand out and touched his arm. "We certainly didn't plan this well."

"He's a grown up, El. He'll be alright for three days." Peter came up behind her a dropped a kiss to to the top of her head. "This show is important to you. And I don't have a choice in this stupid conference. He knows we're not abandoning him."

Neal nodded in agreement. "You've left plenty of food and water. What more does a guy need?"

"Oh! That reminds me." Peter dug a keychain out of his pocket. "Here." He dropped the single key into Neal's hand.

"I've had a house key for months, Peter." He looked down at the small key quizzically.

El grinned. "This is better."

"What is it?" Neal flicked his gaze from one Burke to the other. Peter was grinning and El had a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Obligatory porn." Peter's grin grew wider. "Before you, the one who stayed behind was always alone."

"So you bought porn?" Neal knew his eyebrows were almost touching his hair.

"Oh, no. We made porn."

"Excuse me. What?" Neal looked down at the key in his hand.

"Professionally directed amature porn." There was a bit of pride in El's voice. "It's good."

"You hired someone to..." Neal didn't know if that should disturb him or turn him on. But he was definitely feeling the latter. "That's hot."

"Anyway, so now it's our 'don't miss me too much' stash. And you're welcome too it." Peter led them through the house and grabbed his suitcase handle waiting by the door.

El picked up her bag too. "We better go."

Neal leaned in, capturing first Elizabeth's lips, then Peter's. "I love you."

They echoed his words and left. He was halfway upstairs before he realized where he was headed. Nothing sounded better than 'not missing' them. And this... this he had to see.


	27. Midnight Dreaming

He woke up to the sound of his phone vibrating on the night stand. A look at the clock told him it was just after midnight and he groaned. He grabbed at the phone and thumbed it on as he set his feet on the floor. "Hey." He shot a glance per his shoulder to where El was still sound asleep.

"Can you talk?" Code, clearly. If he was calling at this hour just to talk, he wouldn't ask, he'd just talk.

"Yeah." He stood and walked out of the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

"I miss you, Peter." The words came out in a rush. "Who knew sharing could be this hard."

"I'm sorry, Neal. But Elizabeth..." He started, they'd had this conversation before.

"I know. She shares just fine but doesn't play well with others."

"Not yet, baby. But just... just give her time."

"Meanwhile, she gets the whole bed. And I get this little piece of you." He sounded sad. "And I feel selfish."

"Don't, Neal. I want you here as much as you want to be here."

"I know, I do. It's just hard being the one that's alone."

Peter sighed. "Neal? You do know that you don't have just a piece of me, right?" Neal laughed and Peter frowned. "I'm serious."

"At least it's my favorite part." Neal's voice was teasing. "Which brings me to the actual point of this call."

Peter, who had moved into the guest room, shut the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. "Dreaming again?"

"It's getting a little ridiculous." A self deprecating laugh. "Always you, Peter. My subconscious can not get enough of your cock."

Peter snorted. "If I remember correctly, neither can the rest of you. Twice, today." He reminded him.

"Jesus Peter, I remember. And still... rock hard."

Peter, whose cock had twitched with interest at Can you talk?, suddenly demanded his attention and he lay back on the bed and shimmied his pants down around his thighs. "Are you touching yourself?"

Neal hummed. "Waiting for you. Wasn't sure you were, uh, up for it tonight."

"Always, Neal. Always ready to touch you, stroke you, fuck you." He was stroking his cock slowly, already hard. "Taste you, tease you, please you."

Neal sighed softly and Peter knew he'd taken himself in hand. "I'd like that."

"Which part, Neal? Tell me what you want." He closed his eyes and listened to the soft breathing of his partner. "I need to hear you ask."

Neal groaned and Peter heard the bed shift. "I want you on your knees, Peter. Sucking my cock and use your fingers to... to..." He sucked in a deep gasp.

"To fuck you? You want my mouth around your cock and my fingers in your ass, Neal? Is that what you need?"

"Ye..yeah. Fuck Peter, that's exactly what I need." His sentence was punctuated with a whine.

"Suck on your fingers. Get them good and wet." He heard the soft slurping as Neal obeyed. He heard the bed shift again and it didn't take much imagination to see the position he knew Neal was in, he'd seen it.

"Now, use your middle finger, tease your hole." His breathing picked up and Peter increasd the speed of his own fist in response. "God, Neal. Yes, just like that. Push it in!baby, fuck yourself for me."

Neal cried out in a whimper. "Yeah, Peter, ok." Breathless.

"My mouth hot on your cock, Neal. My tongue working the tip, tastes so good, Neal. Love how you leak for me. Love how you taste when you're fucking my mouth. How fucking tight your ass is when I open you with my fingers."

"Can I... Can I, two?"

"Open yourself up, Neal. Gonna flip you over and taste you there too. Use my tongue while I fuck you with my fingers." Peter was stroking in earnest now, the sounds Neal was making sending arousal pulsing through him in waves.

"God, Peter, fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Please. Please."

"Bend you over the table? Fuck up into your ass until I come. God, Neal. Feel so fucking good so deep in your hole."

"Fuck. Wanna come for you, Peter."

"C'mon, baby. Come with me. I want to hear you. Come with me."

He barely had the words out before Neal's gasps turned to a whine that faded into a low moan thatliy the fuse to Peter's own release. "Shit, Peter, shit. Fuck."

Peter swore as Neal's words tore his orgasm from him. His next conscious thought was Neal's voice murmuring sleepily from the phone. "Wish you were here."

"I know. Me too. I'll talk to El. See if we can work out some sort of..."

"Visitation?" Neal laughed softly. "I love you, Peter. I'm not sure every other weekend is going to be enough."

"It's a start, Neal." He blushed. "I want to fall asleep with you."

"Agent Burke? We're kind of falling asleep together right now." He was right. Peter's eyes had drifted closed and he was on the verge of sleep.

"But I want to wake up with you, too." He yawned.

There was a soft sigh from Neal. "You better go back to your wife."

"Yeah." He struggled upright. "Neal?"

"Hmm?" His hum was barely audible.

"I love you, too."

"G'night, Peter."

"Night, Neal."


	28. Like a Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-series. I'm tired. Yes.

The thrill of a good con was a lot like sex. The build up, the foreplay, the perfect partner, or a solo job.

It was just as fun to do alone, but someone else in on it with him was always better. He mused this over as he stood in the shower, stroking his cock.

He'd had good partners and bad. He'd had jobs that were made for two but that he pulled off (he snorted at his own pun) all on his own.

But with both sex and a good con, what made him keep coming back for more was the after. The glow and the warmth. And the chase.

With sex, it was about the feeling of... having someone that maybe he cared about and the idea that maybe they wanted him too. And it became a game of cat and mouse all it's own. Each person giving and taking and searching for compatibility on a level other than sex.

With a con, it meant Peter. It was the idea that once again he knew he was on the forefront of the other man's mind and that idea absolutely thrilled him. The idea of the time he was stealing and the thought of how wanted he was. It was almost better than sex.

And honestly, the thoughts of the man after the con had a lot to do with the solo sex he was engaging in so much lately.

He came with a grunt and climbed out of the shower. Kate was going to be here soon, there was a painting to acquire.

He didn't admit to himself that at the moment, the con was more important than sex with Kate. He'd never admit he looked forward to the day when he found out how compatible the two men were with each other.

A good con is like good sex. And if he was really lucky, if he got this exactly, perfectly wrong, maybe one would lead to the other.


	29. Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue only

"You're being an ass."

"Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Neal."

"Peter, you almost shot Jones because he brought the wrong sandwich."

"He knows I don't like onions"

"It's his plot to destroy you."

"It's not funny. What if I was allergic?"

"Are you?"

"No. But that's not the point."

"We'll, maybe you should bring your own sandwich tomorrow. I'm sure Elizabeth wouldn't try to kill you with an allergy you don't have."

"She's not home. Her sister's having a rough time with her pregnancy."

"Ohhhh."

"I know that tone."

"I have a tone?"

"I don't know what you think you know, but you don't. So stop."

"I think your wife has been gone too long and you're not getting any and that's why Jones is down in records doing grunt work."

"You want to join him?"

"Easy, Peter. Your frustration is showing."

"Neal...."

"Word of advice from a guy who's last girlfriend left the country? Get yourself off before your head explodes."

"I hope that pun was unintentional."

"It wasn't. Seriously, Peter. Do us all a favor and tame the dragon."

"You really think that's my problem?"

"We'll, it's a fun theory to try out, anyway. Certainly not going to hurt anything."

"Maybe."

"Ok, well, as educational as the conversation is, I have files. Let me know if you need a hand. I mean...."

"I think I can handle this on my own."

"I meant with the stack of cases on your desk. Pervert."

"Oh, right."

"But now that you mention it..."

"I didn't!"

"You did. Slip of the mind, maybe. But you did. And if you change your mind...."

"I think I'll be ok."

"Ok, Peter. But if you do change your mind."

"If I have any trouble, I'll call my wife."

"Oh, Peter. You just broke my heart."

"Get to work Neal."

"Oooh, yes sir.”


	30. Embrace

Snow. As far as he was concerned it was the worst thing about living in the North East. Sure, it was gorgeous and wonderful as it was falling, as long as you had nowhere to go and nothing to do. But as soon as it the night was over it just turned into a wet slushy gray mess.

He stood on his terrace and watched it fall around him. He snuggled a little deeper into Peter's sweatshirt and wished, not for the first time, that he was in Brooklyn. Peter had left the sweatshirt when he'd shown up after a basketball game. He'd peeled it off and they'd had extra testosterone enhance sex right there on the couch.

When he left, he'd walked out in only his tshirt. Neal had intended to wash and return it. But somehow it made it to his bed and it was gross and smelled like dirty sweaty Peter. And Neal hated that he loved it. But he did. So it never got washed and now it was almost a thing of shame. He tucked the damn thing away every time Peter was over.

Only to drag it out again on nights like tonight. Wind blowing, snow falling, and he was alone. Something about the way it was too large and smelled of Peter and kept him warm, felt like an embrace when he wasn't there.

He turned and went back inside, shutting the doors tight behind him. The smell, which was probably imaginary at this point; if he was honest with himself, of Peter keeping him company as he sank down into his bed.

He could smell him, real or not. He was on the sheets he 'forgot' to send with the laundry. The smell of him and Peter together clung to the sheets and just for a moment he realized how depraved he was as he cock twitched with the memories the scents invoked.

He took himself in hand and stroked, images of Peter over him, behind him, under him; filled his mind. He breathed in the scent of masculinity and exertion and lust.

He came with with a grunt and reached for a tissue to clean himself up. He sat up partway and pulled the sweatshirt over his head. He pulled it to his face and breathed in deep. It really didn't smell anymore, except of himself. But still. He lay back down and balled it up by his head. And with Peter on his mind and in his heart, he dropped off to sleep.


	31. Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks. That's it. That's all she wrote. Literally. May is done. I am done. The wanking is DONE. Thank God. It's been a blast. ;)

He was pretty sure he was developing a problem. In the month since Peter had saved his life, (Again, dear God, isn't the White Collar unit supposed to be the safe place to work?) this time from a bomb that had been rigged to 'protect' the stolen art, all he'd been able to think of was the weight of Peter's body on top his own.

Maybe it was the way that he had smelled of burning hair as they sat in the ambulance. Maybe it was the angry gash across his shoulder blades that still caused him to wince when he moved wrong. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when, with his own blood running down his face, he'd asked "Neal? Buddy? Are you ok?" Maybe it was his hands brushing back his hair in a moment that felt too intimate for the situation.

Maybe it was the fact that Peter was his very own goddamn hero.

But for the last month, Peter had invaded his dreams and the thought of his weight pressing into him as his fingers probed for injury before he even thought to move, fueled his fantasies.

Every night, save for one or two, the thought would creep up on him and soon enough his cock was aching and he'd come; in his bed, in the shower, on his expensive couch, one time with a grin at the kitchen table.

He was obsessing over Peter Burke. He craved his voice and the touches he probably didn't know he was giving. But maybe he did, Peter was handsy with him; but when was the last time he'd guided Jones or Diana through a door with a hand to their back?

Maybe he knew and was doing it on purpose. Maybe this whole one sided mess was mutual and both parties were just too scared. Maybe it was Elizabeth (if anything should stop this, it should be her. It would be her. He cares about her too much.)

But maybe they just haven't had the opportunity. He needed to change that. So he booked a table at a restaurant that Peter shouldn't hate too much; a table that he might find a little too cozy but not over the top. And then he called.

"It's been a month since the bomb."

"I know."

"So I was thinking..."

"That's never good."

"Peter, I'm being serious."

"Ok. Ok. What were you thinking?"

"We should celebrate."

"Celebrate the day we nearly got our brains scrambled?"

"No." He sighed. "Celebrate the day something changed."

Peter's silence spoke volumes. "Oh. Yeah. Ok."

"Something changed, right?"

"Yeah, Neal. Something changed." There was a long pause. "What did you have in mind?"

"I made reservations." The relief that flooded his belly felt like a tidal wave.

"Ok." Another pause and then a low chuckle. "I should buy a new tie."

"A new tie?"

"Well, it's not everyday that your best friend asks you on a date."

"Peter..." His heart clenched. "Thank you."

"What time should I pick you up? "

"Yeah. Yes. At 8?"

"Ok, I'll see you tonight."


End file.
